


'cause everything you want is right in front of you

by braille_upon_my_skin



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Everyone else receives a peripheral mention/has a tertiary role., I'm still incorrigible., M/M, Mild warning for a depiction of alcoholism.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 07:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13497096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braille_upon_my_skin/pseuds/braille_upon_my_skin
Summary: "The vice that had him snatching glass after glass off of platters at high class gatherings of significant social standing, frequenting taverns and other places of ill-repute at all hours of the night, and imbibing until his vision swam and blackouts were damn near inevitable, became an afterthought.And, he has only one man to thank for this."





	'cause everything you want is right in front of you

**Author's Note:**

> When I finally got to see "The Greatest Showman", I had absolutely no intention of coming away from the film humoring the idea of shipping anything. Then, "The Other Side" happened to me, and... here I am, not simply shipping, but writing a story centered around the relationship between Hugh Jackman's whimsical portrayal of a controversial historical figure, and Zac Efron's portrayal of the man's fictional business partner. 
> 
> One could say I make questionable life choices.

 

\- -

 

Helming the circus in Barnum's absence required a certain focus and responsibility that producing a play never asked of him. Much more direct participation than Phillip Carlyle was used to; hands-on interactions with the cast; stuffing shirts, making adjustments to costumes to add to the illusion, attempting to seal the gap between himself and Anne Wheeler, the enthralling trapeze artist who made his breath hitch every time he caught a glimpse of her during his pre-show preparations.

This duty, this _role_ , as Barnum would phrase it, soon became a part of Phillip's daily routine that he looked forward to with an eagerness he never fathomed possessing in the doldrums and tedium of his former life among the swells.

It almost, dare he say, filled a vacancy that he previously relied on the bittersweet, biting ambrosia of liquor to quell.

The _almost_ is the most pertinent part of this sentiment, for the more his thoughts strayed to Barnum and the showman's escapades with Jenny Lind, the more his fingers twitched in the direction of a glass; his body _craved_ the quenching, effacing burn of whisky.

It might have been a slight exaggeration to view Barnum's tour with the opera singer as a betrayal of the production he had established in Manhattan. The odd assemblage of pariahs sacrificed their privacy, in some cases, their dignity, and, most distressing, their _safety_ to perform in the ring for an audience unaccustomed to the unconventional being paraded before them.

Nay, unaccustomed is putting it lightly. _Thoroughly discomposed_ would be a more apt description for the heckling, shouts of savage disapproval, and acts of _violence_ Anne and the others were subjected to. 

And, Barnum _abandoned_ them, these people who were already cast into the dregs of society by their own _families_ , in favor of the most conventional talent he could have hired- a woman who would be placing nothing on the line, risked losing nothing at all by touring the world and purveying her abilities to a packed house and thunderous applause.

Picturing Barnum's eyes lingering on Lind, fixated, pouring over her, Barnum drawing the woman into him with hands on her waist, their faces hovering with but the most meager of distances between them, sent Phillip seeking out a bottle, taking it, and bringing it poised to his lips in hopes of quieting the unease that knotted his stomach by drowning it and every other less than pleasant emotion in Scotch.

A ritual all too familiar to him, and comfortable in its familiarity.

But, _that_ was not his betrayal to feel. _Charity's, Caroline's, and Helen's_ , most certainly. The show and its troupe's as well, perhaps.

But, not _Phillip's_. Most decidedly, emphatically _not_.

As the first trace of liquor would meet Phillip's lips, ever enticing, coaxing him to tip the bottle back and let the amber liquid coat his insides and wash everything away, duty would call. He would need to assist Anne, Lettie, or Charles, Chang and Eng, and even, on the rarest of occasions, W.D. with something, have to sort out a financial affair, entertain Helen and Caroline to give Charity a moment of peace, and the bottle would be cast aside.

Both literally and figuratively.

The vice that had him snatching glass after glass off of platters at high-class gatherings of significant social standing, frequenting taverns and other places of ill-repute at all hours of the night, much to the dismay of his stodgy, terribly antiquated and narrow-minded parents, and imbibing until his vision swam and blackouts were damn near inevitable, became an afterthought.

And, he has only one man to thank for this.

"Phineas," he calls out, catching up with the older man as Barnum prepares to take over his shift as ringleader- a rarity, these days.

"Yes, Phillip?" Barnum questions, his stare intent, fond in a way that warms Phillip from head to foot and casts a soft glow on the world around them.

Phillip's pulse is the beat that he follows as he moves forward. "I believe I've forgotten something."

"And, what might that be?" Barnum's patience, the warmth he exudes every time he engages a member of their unusual but perfect family, is something that Phillip could bask in as readily as the glow of a spotlight.

Arching forward on the toes of his boots, Phillip grabs at the lapels of Barnum's decorated coat and meets the man's mouth with his own. He feels a muted gasp of surprise sound across his lips, then, Barnum relaxes, melds into him.

_Reciprocates_.

The taste of Barnum's mouth is warm, every bit as addictive as any shot of whisky. The movement of the muscles in his jaw as he kisses back languidly, his faint stubble pricking Phillip's chin, the heady fragrance of his cologne… They all incite a tingling sensation as they permeate Phillip's senses and send exhilaration shooting through his veins.

It's intoxication without the searing burn. Without the hazards.

Barnum's form is solid, housing a strength that Phillip, himself, has experienced firsthand. He was not fully conscious when Barnum carried him from the burning rubble of their old home- as that is how the others, and, eventually, Phillip, himself, came to view it- but the phantom of the man's touch remains like whispers on his skin- haunting, beckoning, curling around his core until his hair stands on end and he's almost feverish with the need for more.

Phineas Barnum is the thread that bound them all together.

He gave Phillip's life purpose.

He is Phillip's _foundation_.

Barnum's hands rest on Phillip's backside, not pushing him away, but reeling him in, and Phillip leans in ever further, letting his tongue wander into Barnum's mouth, knowing that the joy racing and coursing along every nerve, every pore, every inch of him, the joy that Barnum has brought to his life is entirely _his_ _own to feel_.

When they break off, there's a soft, wet smacking sound that fills the air between them, just discernible under the buzz of the crowd in the stands. Phillip's eyes flutter open, soaking in Barnum's face as the man stares at him beneath the veil of his eyelashes.

"Was that all, Phillip?" Barnum asks.

Smiling, something he does with increasing regularity, now, Phillip nudges Barnum's nose with his own. "I just wanted to thank you."

"Well…" Barnum draws in a breath, and the corners of Phillip's mouth twitch with amusement, knowing that he is the cause of the older man's breathlessness. "That was certainly one way of doing it." A quiet laugh leaves him, puffing against Phillip's mouth.

Phillip lets out his own laugh, much softer, and yet, more real than any expression of amusement he gave voice to before this absurd, reckless, brash, scandalous, and _impossible_ man came into his life.

"Phin… You saved me, you know," he says, the sincerity of his words blasting like a symphony in his chest.

Barnum tilts forward until his forehead touches Phillip's. With an intimate tone that makes Phillip feel exposed and vulnerable, yet secure and content, all the same, he breathes, "I could say the same to you, my friend."

In a smooth, fluid motion, Barnum produces the cane from behind Phillip's back with one hand and steps backward, twirling it and bringing it to rest under his arm, then glides the fingers of his other hand along the brim of his top hat.

Phillip can't help but smile, impressed with the man even as Barnum frustrates him to no end.

Grinning, Barnum tips his hat to Phillip and says, "This show goes on because of _you_."

Heat rushes posthaste to Phillip's cheeks.

As Barnum takes the center ring and the music swells, horses and elephants emerging from their tents to join him, Phillip beams and follows every movement Barnum makes with his eyes, trailing him as he capers under Anne and W.D.'s aerial acrobatics, swaggers past the lions, gestures grandly to the elephants, and whirls on his heels alongside Lettie.

Suddenly and without any warning, however, the entire ensemble has turned to Phillip, and Barnum, of course, is at the head of the formation.

This wasn't supposed to be a part of the act. But, the only predictable thing about Barnum is his unpredictable spontaneity.

He seizes Phillip by the shoulder and pushes him out of the shadows before Phillip can summon up a protest.

Anne whizzes by, overhead, flashing an encouraging smile.

Lettie belts out one of her famous enthusiastic riffs.

Phillip feels another shove at his backside and turns to find Charles sniggering as his horse prances around the ring.

Hundreds of eyes are on him, and the gazes nearest to him, those of friends and _family_ , shine- an invitation to join them.

Barnum extends the end of his cane to Phillip, his eyes glimmering, grin wide and scintillating under the multitude of lights.

Phillip's heart soars, unfurling a grin across his own face. He grabs hold and lets himself be tugged to Barnum's side.

Right where he belongs.

As adrenaline floods his body, guiding it, driving his choreography to mirror Phineas Taylor Barnum's exactly, there is no longer a vacancy inside of Phillip Carlyle that needs filling.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
